Chapter 8 : The Rival's Club

Rossi's club sat on the edge of the eastside, a squat black building with red lights burning over the door. Six armed men stood on the sidewalk, and none of them tried to hide their guns.

"Stay close," Demetrius said quietly as we stepped out.

"I know better than to wander off."

"Good for you."

Inside, the music hit my chest like a fist. The place was packed, loud, and full of people who stopped laughing the moment they recognized Demetrius. Eyes followed us across the floor, and I felt every one of them settle on the hand Demetrius kept at my back.

Marco and four soldiers formed a wall around us. Rossi's men stood along the balcony, watching, hands resting near their jackets. We were led to a private section at the rear, a low leather booth behind a velvet rope. A heavyset man in a cream suit sat in the middle with a glass in his hand, and his smile was thin and mean.

"Demetrius," Salvatore Rossi said. "You walk into my house uninvited, and you bring a girl… Classic."

"I want my shipment back, Salvatore."

"What can I offer you, princess?"

"I want my shipment back, Salvatore."

"What shipment?"

"Don't insult me."

Rossi's eyes slid to me slowly, and I noticed the way his smile faded when he looked at me. "And this is the famous fiancée? I'd heard rumors. Didn't think you were the marrying type."

"Eyes on me," Demetrius said, and his voice dropped so low that the man beside Rossi actually shifted his feet.

Rossi's gaze returned to him, and for a moment neither man spoke. The music from the main floor continued around us, but the space inside the booth felt strangely quiet.

I said nothing. I let my gaze drift around the booth instead, taking in the men standing behind Rossi, the exits, the balcony and the people pretending not to watch us. Then my attention caught on a thin man in glasses standing behind Rossi's shoulder, tapping one finger against his pants leg over and over. Sweat shone at his hairline, and every few seconds, his eyes moved toward the entrance as if he was waiting for someone.

Rossi was still denying everything, insisting none of his men had touched a Moretti warehouse, and while the two of them stared each other down, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and opened a connection to the club's network.

It was ridiculously easy. Their security was loud and shallow, all show, and within three minutes I was reading their transaction logs. I filtered for the night of the attack and started going through the records, ignoring the usual payments until one line jumped out at me immediately.

A large payment had been sent to a private account on the exact night the shipment disappeared.

I checked the name. Then I looked at the man in glasses again, the name on the account matched. I copied the record and tilted my phone toward Demetrius, just enough for him to see the screen. His eyes flicked down, then back up, cold and satisfied.

"Your accountant," he said pleasantly, "looks nervous."

Rossi frowned. "Marcus?"

"Bring him out here."

Two of Marco's men had the accountant in the center of the floor before Rossi could object. The thin man's hands started shaking as he looked from Rossi to Demetrius and then to me.

"I don't know what this is about," he stammered.

"Explain this." I held up my phone. "A payment to your personal account on the night of the attack."

"That's not, I never… someone else must have..."

"It's in your name," I said, "and your account number."

The room was dead quiet. The music had stopped, and every eye was locked on the man sweating in the middle of the floor. Rossi's face darkened as he looked at his accountant.

"Marcus," he said softly. "Explain."

The accountant swallowed hard. "My account was hacked," he blurted out. "I swear, I didn't take that money. Someone got in remotely, moved it through other accounts and dumped it back in my name. I didn't touch it!"

I stared at him. It sounded desperate, but it also sounded true, and it fit the pattern I'd already seen at the warehouse. Clean, careful and invisible. Whoever was behind this had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure that anyone following the money would end up looking in the wrong direction.

"Give me a minute," I muttered, dropping into a chair and pulling the transfer up again.

Behind the first transaction was a second, and behind that a third, a whole chain of shell accounts folding in on each other. I followed each transfer carefully, watching the money move from one account to another before disappearing somewhere else. Whoever built it had wanted this trail to end on someone else's doorstep.

I frowned and went back to the beginning. The first transfer had been made within minutes of the shipment disappearing. That couldn't be a coincidence. I checked the amount again, then compared it with the value of the missing shipment. My fingers moved quickly across the screen as I traced another account. First they all gave me no result but then I found another transfer buried beneath the others.

My pulse quickened. There was something here.

I was about to open it when the lights flickered and for some reason, everyone looked up at once.

"Iris," Demetrius said sharply,his hand was already on my arm. The lights dimmed again and then a gunshot cracked from the direction of the private bathroom. The accountant jerked once and dropped like his strings had been cut.

"Down!" Marco roared.

Another shot shattered the glass beside my head, and something sharp stung my cheek. Demetrius shoved me low, his arm locked over my back, and the entire room exploded.

Marco's men fired toward the bathroom. Rossi's soldiers dove behind tables, and Rossi himself was screaming orders that nobody could hear over the noise. Someone knocked over a table, glasses crashed to the floor, and people from the main club began screaming as they tried to get away.

I pressed my face against Demetrius's chest and felt his heart pounding, fast and hard, but his hand around me never shook.

Another shot rang out somewhere above us.

Demetrius shifted, covering more of my body with his own.

"Stay down," he said.

I didn't argue. For a few seconds, all I could hear was gunfire, shouting and the ringing in my ears. I couldn't see the bathroom from where I was, but I could hear Marco's men firing toward it, followed by the sound of footsteps somewhere behind the walls.

Then everything stopped. It felt like an hour, but it was probably thirty seconds. I lifted my head slowly, ears still ringing, and looked around the club. Tables had been overturned, glass covered the floor, and several men were still holding their guns up, waiting for another shot.

The accountant was lying motionless on the floor, his glasses cracked beside his face. Blood was spreading slowly across the tile.My stomach turned and I suddenly felt very cold. The man had been terrified only moments ago, but now he was completely still.

Demetrius looked at the body, then at the bathroom door swinging open on its hinges. His expression turned to something very stern. He straightened, still holding me against his side, and his eyes swept across the room.

Nobody moved.

"Lock the doors," he barked. 

Marco immediately turned to his men. "Nobody leaves, shut the place down."

The exits were sealed within seconds, and Rossi's men began checking the club from one end to the other. The music remained off, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence that made every movement feel louder than it should have.

Demetrius looked back at the dead accountant and then his eyes moved toward me.

"Are you hurt?"

I touched my cheek and felt the sting again.

"Just a scratch."

His jaw tightened as he looked at the blood on my fingers, but he didn't say anything.Instead, he turned back toward Marco.

"Nobody leaves this club until I know who killed him."

Marco nodded. Rossi stared at the body, his face unreadable and I looked down at my phone. The transaction was still open and somewhere inside those layers of accounts was the person who had arranged for the shipment to disappear.

Now, they had killed the only man who might have helped us find them. And whoever pulled the trigger had been close enough to hear everything we'd said.